


Lick My Shoes

by orphan_account



Category: Historical RPF, Seven Shakespeares, Shakespeare RPF | Elizabethan & Jacobean Theater RPF
Genre: M/M, Public Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 05:53:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17016969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Watson should really have waited for Will to get down on his knees of his own accord and lick Marlowe's shoes before the crowd. He would've done it.





	Lick My Shoes

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even think Non Sanz Droict 7 is out in English yet, and there is literally no fanfiction for this manga on AO3 but GOD I NEED THIS. Maybe the general Shakespeare historical RPF fandom will appreciate this. Maybe someone will read this nonsense. Have William Shakespeare licking Christopher Marlowe's shoes, everybody.

 

“Get down on your knees and lick my shoes.”

Marlowe said it with a smile, as if it were all a joke to him. And perhaps it was—this whole ordeal had been Watson's idea, after all, and Marlowe merely seemed to be playing along. Oh, he was enjoying it, of course. This scenario had everything Will knew Marlowe loved: a roaring crowd, the great hero dominating the scene, and the sight of his enemies' abject humiliation.

Marlowe sat on the prop throne of the stage of The Theatre as if he really were royalty, waiting, expectantly, for Will to give in. All the Admiral's Men and Lord Strange's Men were watching, the former jeering and the latter holding their breaths to see what Will would do.

Will's eyes flicked over to Robin, looking guilty, ashamed, and to Watson, who looked about ready to do some real violence.

“Fine,” Will said. Heart pounding, he took the few steps up to the prop throne and knelt at Marlowe's feet. “If this is all it takes to satisfy you.” He lowered his head to Marlowe's shoe.

Will's eyes turned up, and he saw Marlowe's smile widen. His legs were arrogantly spread, his hands resting casually on his lap.

The crowd of players roared as Will's tongue descended on Marlowe's leather shoe. Marlowe was, quite thankfully, a vain and fastidious man, and his shoes were quite freshly cleaned. They tasted of leather and polish, but nothing worse. Humiliation burning his face, Will ran his tongue from the tip of Marlowe's toe to the pincushion-like decoration over the buckle, then back down again. Marlowe's eyes never left him. The fingers of his left hand twitched, and something in his eyes changed just slightly.

Will began to tune out the jeering crowd, focusing on Marlowe alone. That haughty gaze always drew him in, bore down on him with such intensity. That was the look that said _I rule this theatre._

“An underwhelming performance,” Marlowe looked down in utter disdain.

He was such a bastard. Will wanted nothing more than to kick him from his throne, literally and metaphorically.

Will grabbed his foot by the heel and lowered his face to the toe once more. “Then I suppose I have to show you an encore.” He dragged his tongue across the leather again and again, deliberately making little breathy sounds while he was at it, kissing his way up the shoe and then going for the ankle, too, licking along Marlowe's hose halfway up the shin.

“That's enough.” Marlowe kicked Will away, shoe connecting sharply with Will's jaw, knocking him back, and Will looked up at him again. Marlowe's face looked a little flushed, his left hand in his lap twitching further.

“But I haven't even done your other shoe,” Will said smoothly, ignoring the smarting of his face as he knelt before Marlowe once more and grabbed his other foot forcefully. He licked the shoe, then continued up Marlowe's leg from ankle to knee, biting at him through his hose, moaning into the wool. He could feel Marlowe's leg straining underneath him to kick him away, but Will was stronger, and he leaned his full weight on Marlowe's foot, keeping his leg down.

Will looked up and saw exactly what he'd hoped he would see. Marlowe was red-faced, his cock blatantly pressing up against his codpiece. The crowd hooted.

“Is this what you wanted, _Christopher?_ ” Will said loudly, turning slightly to ensure his voice carried to the audience. “Has Watson not been servicing you well, lately? If you wanted me that badly, you should have just asked.”

Will expected the kick from Watson, and he rolled out of the way just in time, hopping to his feet. He let his half-cape hang over his crotch—he _certainly_ wasn't going to let Marlowe know just how much he had enjoyed that. That was a little too much humiliation for one day.

Marlowe stood from the throne, and oh, it was _so_ nice to see that smug face of his twisted in anger.

“So then shall I lick yours, too, Watson?” Will turned to the other man with a grin. “Or am I too old for your tastes?”

Watson got in one good punch on Will's face before Burbage stomped up on stage and physically intervened, hollering for everyone to cut this the hell out. Will gracefully back down and went out stage left, striding by Marlowe, who was making his own dramatically arrogant exit, as if this were all beneath him.

Backstage, Will caught Marlowe's arm and leaned in to murmur to him. “In two months time, _you'll_ be the one licking my shoes.”

Marlowe turned to look at him, and his anger was now smoothed over again, replaced by that usual, mildly-amused control. “You're an interesting man, William Shakespeare. You have spirit.” And then without warning, he grabbed Will by the back of his neck and crushed their lips together, while his other grabbed Will's crotch. When he found Will was still hard, Marlowe's lips grinned against his, and then he pulled away. “It makes breaking it all the more worthwhile.” And then he strode away, leaving Will flushed and indignant in his wake.

 


End file.
